


Into the Abyss

by fivehorizons



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gangs, M/M, Mobs, and guess who's gonna be the thief, hq rare pair weekend, pretty much gonna be a heist story, to be a multi chapter fic bc idk how to write short things :/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivehorizons/pseuds/fivehorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shouyou blinked back and, for the first time, noticed the splotches of black that had started to take over his sight. Everything was going fuzzy, including his senses. When the killer reached out and ran his thumb across Shouyou’s cheek, Shouyou didn’t even feel it. He kind of wished he did. </p>
<p>The last thing Shouyou remembered before his vision went dark was the hand cradling his face. And the firing of a gun. </p>
<p>aka Hinata encounters a gang full of lethal but v hot guys</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write so much more for the first chapter but this week didn't go according to plan whelp. Note: Hina is going by an alias in this so don't be confused if he has a different name. kind of.
> 
> for hq rarepair weekend: wicked. because gangs full of hot guys are wicked, right?

In the darkness of night, from the peaks of pointed rooftops, they were invisible. Gray clouds obscured the sliver of moonlight that would’ve cascaded across the city. Now, its only source of light was the lackluster streetlamps.

At this hour, sinners were out to play while the rest of the world was cloaked in the façade of oblivion.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” The man who spoke had upright tufts of hair that paralleled the color of the hidden moonlight in addition to darker strands of ebony.

“Patience, Bokuto-san,” a voice hummed.

Bokuto twisted his neck, desperate to find the owner of the voice amongst the darkness. It took him a few seconds, but there he was, reclining against the chimney, his lithe form almost blending in with the tower of disheveled bricks.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto roared, quickly followed by a sharp jab to his ribs.

Bokuto released a pained hiss as another voice scolded, “Are you planning on waking up the whole neighborhood?”

Bokuto muttered a swear under his breath but shrugged his wideset shoulders. “It’s cold out here. I wanna go home.”

Kuroo agreed—he could see the plumes of hot air spilling from his chapped lips as he spoke—but tonight was important. So very important, and if they fucked it up, the Deceiver wouldn’t be forgiving.

“As soon as you do your part of the job, you can slip off. Leave the dirty work to Akaashi and me.”

From the chimney, Akaashi nodded. The glint of metal flashed between his fingers, but then it was gone. Kuroo grinned and snaked his hand inside his jacket for his own weapon. The cold had made its smooth surface icy, but the chill sent electricity rushing up his side.

The earpiece each of the three young men wore buzzed to life in unison. “Thirty seconds and they’re yours.”

Kuroo held down the earpiece so his voice traveled back to headquarters in perfect clarity. “Thanks, Kenma.”

“Don’t mess up,” was all Kuroo got for a response as Kenma returned to his usual silence.

Kuroo switched his hand from the earpiece to Bokuto’s back. He patted him, the grin still playing on his lips. “Ready to get going?”

Bokuto returned Kuroo’s mischievous look as he slipped the first explosive out of his backpack. “Oh, hell yeah.”

…

Shouyou didn’t know so much blood could come out of his nose. The better half of his dress shirt was in crimson ruins, and there was no sign of the flood stopping.

A hand burrowed into the blood-drenched neckline of his shirt, and the back of Shouyou’s head was slammed against the car window.

He saw stars, but that didn’t stop the man from growling out a question.

“Where is it?”

Shouyou bared his teeth, blood dribbling off his lips and into his mouth. The metallic taste of his own blood didn’t faze him.

“You’re never going to find it.”

The ice cold barrel of a gun found its way against Shouyou’s temple. He barely kept back his whimper. After what happened to his mother, he’d come to hate guns, whether they were pointed at him or not.

“You’ll tell us,” the man threatened, “or your brain’s gonna spice up this bland interior.”

The driver groaned. “Not in here, man. I just cleaned it out.”

“Fuck off,” the man growled, but the pressure of the gun slipped enough for Shouyou to take a shaky breath.

But the breath was lost in his throat as the speeding car met the flames and concussions of an explosion.

The driver and man shouted as the windows shattered from the force of the explosion, and the car careened from the street, spinning in sickening circles until it slammed into something solid. The car shrieked against the impact that smashed the driver’s side inward.

Shouyou—with no seatbelt and already disoriented from blood loss—was helplessly thrown around the marred vehicle. He somehow ended up on the floor of the backseat, face pressed against the leather shoes of the man who had been holding a gun to his head seconds ago. There was a new, hot pool of blood spilling from his head. He touched his fingers to the source and found a generous gash cutting across his scalp.

“Get up, you bastard,” the man growled out. He dug his fingers in Shouyou’s hair and yanked up.

Shouyou howled with pain—the man’s grip on his hair was stretching at his fresh wound, eliciting a scream and more blood.

The car door opened, and Shouyou braced his body to be dragged out. But instead, his pained yells were masked by the man’s shout.

“What the fuck you want?”

Shouyou heard a smooth, even voice say, “Your heart will do.”

The man’s grip on Shouyou went slack, and Shouyou seized the opportunity to crane his head upward. He looked just in time to see the blade of a knife burrow into the man’s chest cavity, right where his heart pounded.

The last thing the man did was gasp, and then he was gone. Quick as that.

As the knife was slowly drawn from the man, Shouyou followed the long, slender fingers holding its hilt to a face—a beautiful face, he thought breathlessly.

Luminescent green eyes stared down at Shouyou. There was a lazy look to them, like their owner wasn’t concerned about the blood on his hands or the corpse in the backseat of a crashed car. His ebony hair matched the sky outside.

_Outside._ Shouyou hadn’t been in the car for too long, but he craved the feel of air brushing his cheeks, of moonlight playing on his bloody skin. With how the interrogation was going, Shouyou had allowed himself to think that he’d never see the outside world again. He was prepared to die in the backseat of a car with tinted windows all for a single secret.

He needed to get out there, to where the world, even in the dark, contained life, but when he told his limbs to move, they didn’t.

He blinked back and, for the first time, noticed the splotches of black that had started to take over his sight. Everything was going fuzzy, including his senses. When the killer reached out and ran his thumb across Shouyou’s cheek, Shouyou didn’t even feel it. He kind of wished he did.

The last thing Shouyou remembered before his vision went dark was the hand cradling his face. And the firing of a gun.

…

“Tanaka Shouyou.” Tetsurou read off the kid’s ID. “Barely eighteen.”

“Looks younger,” Kenma mumbled from his work table.

“You’re one to talk.”

Kenma didn’t spare a laugh. He was too preoccupied by the procedure at hand—healing the mangled body on the metal slab.

As if Tetsurou hadn’t spoken in the first place, Kenma said, “He lost a lot of blood. It’s good that you brought him straight here.”

“He passed out as soon as we killed the targets. We didn’t really have any other choice.”

Kenma grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the sutures he placed amongst flame-colored hair. “How is he involved?”

Tetsurou ruffled a hand through his hair. God, he was tired and his bed sounded more inviting than ever, but he wanted to make sure Akaashi and Bokuto found their way back to headquarters in one piece. Tetsurou had taken the kid—Tanaka, according to his ID—on his motorcycle to make faster time. Meanwhile, Akaashi and Bokuto were left with clean-up duty followed by traveling home via rooftops. Either way, they should’ve been back already.

“No clue, but from the looks of it, he pissed off someone important.”

Quietly, Kenma offered, “Or he knows something important.”

“That’s why you need to keep him alive,” Tetsurou said with a smirk. “As soon as he’s good and new, we’ll interrogate him.”

“So you can ruin him all over again?”

A wicked quirk of the lips. “Only if he doesn’t cooperate.”

Kenma shook his head and reverted the conversation back to Tanaka’s state. “His nose isn’t broken but it’ll hurt him. Black eyes are starting to show, too.”

“Nothing too bad. Remember last summer when I came back from a mission with a dagger still in my back.”

“Don’t remind me,” Kenma groaned. “We should hire a real medic. I’m just the tech guy.”

“Who knows a lot about medicine and surgery.” Kenma didn’t have anything prying at Tanaka, so Tetsurou dared to wrap his arm around his longtime friend’s shoulder and shake him around. “Come on, Kenma. We all would’ve been long dead without you here.”

“Sometimes I wish you were,” he said, but Tetsurou could see the smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

Kenma shrugged off Tetsurou. “I need to work.”

Tetsurou didn’t have the intention of letting him off so easily, but just then the door to the medical room swung open, revealing two forms covered in so much soot Tetsurou barely made out the color of their skin.

“What happened to you guys?” Tetsurou exclaimed.

“Well,” Bokuto began, but Akaashi firmly cut him off.

“On our way to headquarters, Bokuto-san and I were pursued by an assassin. Bokuto-san deemed it rational to detonate one of his explosives on top a roof to stop the assassin.”

“I thought it was a good idea!” Bokuto whined.

“Tell that to the owner of the house you destroyed,” Akaashi said, bitterness heaped onto his words.

“Whatever.” Bokuto folded his arms across his chest. “All that matters is that we made it here safe because of me.”

Akaashi frowned but chose not to continue the argument. Instead, he made his way over to Tanaka’s bedside.

Though Tetsurou’s eyes followed Akaashi to the medical bed, he didn’t hear a single footstep from him. Akaashi’s stealth had always been eerie, even after all these years. On missions, Tetsurou often lost track of him, only discovering him when the targets screamed in agony as Akaashi drove one of his knives home.

The entire Underworld knew Akaashi Keiji as nothing other than the Shadow. It was one of the most appropriate names to be dubbed for a member of the Abyss.

“How is he?” Akaashi asked Kenma.

“He’ll be fine. I hooked him up to an IV.”

“Good. I have a lot of questions.” He brushed away at the red hair until he found the stitched-up wound that had added to the blood loss. “Seven stitches?”

Kenma nodded. “There was a bit of glass in the wound. He must’ve gotten it in the crash.”

“And let me guess,” Bokuto began, “you’re going to blame me for that too.”

Akaashi ignored him, and a pout formed on Bokuto’s lips. “Akaaaashi!”

“Quiet down,” Tetsurou muttered as he pushed himself to his feet. “Now that you two made it back, I’m going to bed.”

“What about the kid?” Bokuto asked, jutting his chin towards the medical table and its motionless occupant.

“What about him?”

“If you went through all the trouble of rushing him back here, aren’t you concerned about his well-being?” Akaashi asked from the table. His eyes were still running over the various wounds and bruises on Tanaka’s body. As soon as Tetsurou had carried the small body into the medical wing, Kenma had stripped him of his formal attire so the only thing keeping him from completely naked was his boxers—Calvin Klein, of course. Whoever this Tanaka Shouyou was, he had money. That much was obvious from his attire, all the way down to his designer underwear.

Bruises bloomed over his tan skin like flowers, ranging from deep shades of green to vermillion. Kenma had thankfully washed the blood stains from his body so Tanaka didn’t look as horrific.

“He’s in Kenma’s hands, so he’ll be fine.” Tetsurou stuffed his hands into his pockets and started for the door Bokuto had yet to move from. “Guys, we did a good job on the mission tonight. The least we deserve is some sleep before the Deceiver returns tomorrow night.”

“I’m not tired.” Following Akaashi’s words was the screech of a metal chair being pulled to Tanaka’s bedside. “You two can go to bed. I’ll stay with Kenma until he’s done.”

“Suit yourself,” Tetsurou said, but Bokuto didn’t seem as ready to leave behind Akaashi.

Even though Akaashi and Tetsurou were partners within Abyss, the bond between Akaashi and Bokuto was something else. While Akaashi was the Shadow, Bokuto was his flame—that’s what the Underworld knew him as: The Inferno. He and his handmade explosives burned bright while Akaashi belonged to the smoke and darkness that followed Bokuto’s destruction.

“Come on.” Tetsurou slinked his arm through Bokuto’s, dragging him away from the medical room and their friends. “You’re so tired your hair is starting to deflate.”

Bokuto’s hands shot to his hair. “No!”

Tetsurou was lying; Bokuto’s hair was as pointed as usual. He just didn’t want to be the only one heading to the hall containing their individual bedrooms.

“Come on,” Tetsurou said with an exhausted laugh. “We can worry about the kid later.”

“Alright.” Though Bokuto followed Tetsurou, he didn’t sound certain of his decision.

“Ring the alarm if the kid ends up being a psycho killer or something,” Tetsurou called over his shoulder. “Night, Akaashi, Kenma.”

“Goodnight,” they returned but without looking away from the metal table and its occupant.

For a second, Tetsurou was drawn to stay with the others and survey the injured body of the boy. But why should he lose sleep for someone he’d end up interrogating? He was tired and Tanaka meant absolutely nothing to him—unless he held information vital to their work. That was all Tanaka was good for now: information. Without that, he was nothing but a citizen caught in the crossfire of mobs and chaos.

With this reasoning, Tetsurou proceeded to his bed with Bokuto in stride.


	2. Chapter 2

Shouyou woke up in a bath of fluorescent lights. He felt them hot on his face, and when his eyes fluttered open, he cringed against their intensity.

First, he had to adjust to the lights. Then…

Panic.

He snapped up, wincing as bursts of pain rushed across his near-naked body. His expensive—and blood-drenched—suit had been removed, leaving him in his underwear. He’d be more worried about that if his surroundings didn’t seem so standard, for a hospital at least.

He was atop a metal table, a bundled black sweatshirt acting as his pillow. He unraveled the sweatshirt, noticed it didn’t belong to his wardrobe, and lifted the dark fabric to his nose. It smelled unfamiliar, but not repulsive. Like campfires and pine needles. Shouyou took a deeper breath before pulling the oversized sweatshirt over his unclothed body. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had access to in what seemed like a physician’s private practice.

With the sweatshirt sagging in an ill-fit on his body, he leaped off the table and made straight for the door. Locked—of course.

Dread settled in the bottom of his empty stomach. Thoughtlessly, he gripped the source of hunger and anxiety while pacing the perimeter of the room. His objectives: find anything that would offer him a way out of the room and search for any clues as to where he was.

His memory ended with the beautiful man running his fingers along his jaw, accompanied by the terrible holler of a gun letting loose a bullet.

The man and his comrade couldn’t have been associated with the thugs who dragged Shouyou from the gala to their unlicensed car. They were the ones to kill Shouyou’s attackers, after all.

Then, who were they? If they were his family’s men, they wouldn’t have locked him in an unfamiliar room. If they were enemies, they wouldn’t have stitched him back together again.

His eyes finally landed on something: his ID. Or better known as his fake one. He picked it up, smiling at the false last name. Tanaka, taken from one of his best bodyguards’ surnames. Shouyou spared a moment to ponder the well-being of his bodyguard team: Tanaka, Noya, and Kageyama. Last he saw of them, they were positioned in front of the bathroom Shouyou went into and consequently got jumped in by the thugs.

He pocketed the ID and continued to search the room for a source of escape. The doctor here kept their tools hidden; whatever had sewn in the stitches across Shouyou’s scalp wasn’t seen in any corner of the room.

Shouyou leaned against the table with a huff. No tools to pry open the door, no hidden exits. It was hopeless.

He went to shove his hands into the sweatshirt pocket, and his fingers immediately scrapped against loose change left in the pocket. The shock of their icy chill caused Shouyou to retract his hands, but after a quick recovery, he fingered the spare coins out of the pocket.

Barely any money. A nickel, two dimes, and a quarter.

He moved to return the change to the pocket, but his eyes caught the air vent in the upper left corner of the room. Specifically, he caught the screws that held it in place.

He lifted the quarter. Not a screwdriver, but it’d do. It had to.

Making quick work of his escape, he dragged the metal table beneath the vent and climbed on top of it. Without so much as a wobble, he positioned himself in front of the vent and jammed the quarter into the top screw of the vent. He set to work, unscrewing each bolt, pausing only to listen for incoming footsteps.

In seconds, he yanked off the vent’s metal covering with a slight grunt of effort and pulled his body through the revealed hole. He thought about trying to force the vent back in place but decided that he’d be long gone by the time anyone stopped by the room.

So with no idea of where he was or in what direction the vents would take him, Shouyou set out, determined to make it out of here, preferably with no new bruises.

* * *

Tetsurou and Akaashi were the only ones who enjoyed morning practices. Kenma rarely got up in time for them to commence. Bokuto, despite his constant grumbling and groans, always showed up, though his mood was far from its typical verve. He didn’t even have the heart to style his hair in its normal, upright formation.

Meanwhile, Tetsurou and Akaashi entered the training room in states of complete awareness. That was probably why they could both get the upper hand on Bokuto in the ring, something that rarely happened in the afternoon sessions. Akaashi was lithe and quick, but Bokuto’s ferocity and sheer strength triumphed in the ring. But in the morning, that fact didn’t apply.

There was a slam—and Akaashi was on top of Bokuto, whose limbs were sprawled across the ring’s wooden floor. Hitting the wooden floor hurt like hell, but it was to build their tolerance for pain. Out in the real world, there were a lot worse things to collide into compared to a layer of wood.

Bokuto groaned, but Tetsurou’s laugh was louder. Akaashi only grinned, but that was enough to show his satisfaction with the fight’s outcome.

When Akaashi lifted off of Bokuto, he raised his eyebrow. “Another round, Bokuto-san?”

Tetsurou raised his hand. “Not so fast, Akaashi.” He stepped into the ring. “I think I should have a turn.”

“What am I? Your guys’ whore to toss around?” Though Bokuto said this, a shimmer waved across his golden eyes. He was waking up. That meant this fight had to happen now, while Tetsurou still had the morning’s upper hand.

Tetsurou grinned down at Bokuto as he pulled himself back up to his feet. Tetsurou never understood his friend’s training attire. He wore loose black shorts and a variation of simple athletic shirts. That was all in the norm. What wasn’t was the knee pads he simply _had to_ wear. Tetsurou heckled him for the excess coverage on a daily basis, but he didn’t do so now. Every second gave Bokuto more time to wake up.

“Count how many times I hit him onto his ass,” Tetsurou said to Akaashi as the recent victor slinked out of the ring.

“Like hell!” Bokuto balled his hands into large, calloused fists. Tetsurou had seen those fists stained with blood. Never his, of course.

There was no signal to start the fight. Their minds just clicked—or snapped—at the same time, and they threw their bodies at each other.

Tetsurou knew he wasn’t Akaashi. He wasn’t a graceful fighter who could dance around Bokuto’s flurry of attacks, but he could sure as hell take them. And the precision of a shooter’s eye lent to accurate hits that could render most other opponent’s unconscious with one hit. 

Bokuto caught Tetsurou straight in the gut, but before his eyes could shine with pride, Tetsurou returned the hit with one square in the jaw. Both of them tumbled out of hitting distance, but neither went to the ground.

Pain rolled through Tetsurou’s body and his breaths came out sharp, but he was smiling. So was Bokuto.

“You think that’s gonna cut it on our next mission?” Tetsurou taunted, because it was so easy to do so.

“I can say the same to you.” Bokuto rubbed his jaw before standing a little taller. “Anyone with a gun isn’t going to give you more than one hit.”

That was true, but outside of the ring, Tetsurou relied on guns, not fists, to bring his enemies down. Physical fights occurred sporadically on missions, but when Tetsurou was behind the trigger, it was almost assured that no brawl would ensue.

Bokuto pounced first this time, and Tetsurou braced for the hit. He felt the muscles and sinews woven through his arms tighten and wait for the impact, which he would return with twice the strength, but the hit never came.

“Guys.” It was Kenma. His voice was louder than usual, though still far from a yell, and a twinge of panic laced the single syllable. Maybe Akaashi and Bokuto couldn’t hear it as well as Tetsurou, but neither of them had grown up in the same orphanage as Kenma, suffered the same abuses as Kenma, escaped from hell the same way as Kenma. After all these years, Tetsurou could read every change in Kenma’s voice or features, no matter how slight they appeared. If Bokuto was an open book, Kenma was a complex novel wrapped in thick chains and secured by three different locks.

Tetsurou backed away from Bokuto and glanced at Kenma. “What is it?”

Kenma wasn’t looking towards the ring; his stare was fixated on the flat-screen inside the training room. Tetsurou hardly paid attention to it, especially when he was in the ring or training. It was mainly put on for background noise or for Kenma’s pleasure.

With Tetsurou, Bokuto, and Akaashi focused on the ring, they were missing the ongoing story a news channel played for their early morning session.

The first thing Tetsurou noticed was the image that filled the left half of the screen, the image the newscasters on the right were discussing. It was a picture of a single person, poised and professional. The person wore a cool expression that seemed out of place on a figure that exuded such warmth.

Besides the expression, the young man in the picture was a lot like how Tetsurou remembered him; hair made out of fire, passionate amber eyes that didn’t lose their glow—even as he passed out—and in a suit. It was Tanaka, their mysterious captive-patient, on the news.

When Tetsurou’s eyes wandered from the image of Tanaka to the news segment’s title, he felt the blood rushing through his veins freeze.

It read: _MISSING-Heir to Hinata Enterprise_

He had to tear it apart slowly. Heir. To THE Hinata Enterprise. The biggest company across the globe. Hinata Enterprise made almost everything available to the public, and if they didn’t, they had influence over who did. Hinata was a household name, though not that many could put a face to it. Tetsurou was able to now. Those eyes, that hair, the prestige. They should’ve known sooner.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Without having to say anything else, the four of them abandoned the training room and raced to the medical wing, right to the room where Tetsurou had last seen Tanaka—no, Hinata, one of the richest, most affluent people his age.

Akaashi got there first, and he didn’t wait for the rest to catch up before opening the door.

Tetsurou burst into the room, eyes going straight for the metal bed they’d left Hinata at. Now, the bed was shoved into a corner in the room. It was empty, and the only sign Hinata had left behind was a removed air vent.

As if the first time wasn’t enough, he repeated, “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will Hinata escape????? stay tuned (though I am not promising an update any time soon LOL)


End file.
